Nausea stirs
As my heart drops into my stomach.

My vision is clouded
By opaque yellow,
The kind of yellow that is sharp,
Like the word *****.

My knees feel weak
My chest feels tight.

I have to rub my hands together
To stop them from shaking.

Not again not again not again not again

This happens everytime.
The word drops into the forefront of my brain
Like a hydrogen bomb,
And we're just
Collateral damage.

As always,
I wish I could say I'm sorry,
But I'd need a better word than that.
Even still,
Shrapnel is shrapnel,
And I guess I have to live
With what I've done.